Parfait Amour

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Parfait Amour

It is not that thy face is fair

As dying sunsets are,

Nor that thy lovely eyelids wear

The splendour of a star;

’Tis the deep sadness of thine eyes

Hath my heart captive led,

And that within thy soul I prize

The calmness of the dead.

O holy love, O fair white face,

O sweet lost soul of thine!

Thy bosom is an altar-place,

Thy kisses holy wine;

Sweet incense offer’d for my bliss

Is thy corrupted breath,

And on thy stained lips I kiss

The holy lips of Death!

Wherefore because thy heart is all

Fill’d full of mournfulness,

And thy gold head as with a pall

Hung o’er with sinfulness;

Because thy soul is utterly

Sinful unto the core⁠—

Therefore my heart is bound to thee,

Dear love, forevermore!